The Devon Chronicles
by Donnie-o
Summary: What happens when toys are discarded? Some simply accept their fate. Devon? He develops a desire for complete world domination! One lair at a time... oneshot
1. Devon vs Raph

_Disclaimer: I don't own the ninja turtles. I just like to write about them._

_Author's note: This character was given to me by Turtlefreak121 huggles Also, I might be writing more one shots from time to time about Devon, and I'll be posting them on this story. But it is still a one-shot. _

Devon vs. Raph

In the stillness of night, while the quiet of the lair filled the air, someone stirred. Underneath Michelangelo's bed, amidst all his forgotten toys—noisemakers, stuffed animals, and games—there lay one who had gotten tired of it.

Devon was not like most toys, having been made not by machine, but by the careful hands of Donatello. He'd been sewn up in the form of a mutant turtle, like Donatello and his brothers many years ago. (Donnie had been trying to show Michelangelo that dolls didn't only have to be human-shaped to be fun to play with.) He was plushy, and soft, with two button eyes, and a smile stitched on. Well, actually after having gone through much loving abuse from his owner Michelangelo, he now sported worn fabric, patched up in some places, and one eye. The other eye had disappeared after a rough game of 'Mutant Devon vs. G.I. Joe.'

In the end, Devon found himself shoved underneath a bed, and lying for years in dust, forgotten. Something he didn't appreciate. Especially not after being able to taste fresh air for the first time in years after that ill-fated Mouser attack. He'd been found again by Raphael who'd been scavenging the old lair for any surviving possessions, and had decided that Devon qualified. He was thrown into a box, and brought to the lair with all their other stuff. Oh, the feeling of fresh air against his fabric, plushy face!

So he came to an executive decision. He wouldn't put up with that which was dark and dusty anymore! Oh no, he considered himself a genius in the realm of toydom, and he felt far too cunning to simply accept his fate. He would break all the rules, and do whatever he desired.

And what, you might ask, would a mutant turtle plushy toy desire?

Oh, nothing much.

Just world domination!

* * *

Devon paced, thinking and pondering, as all genius minds must, trying to discover the best method for complete control of the globe. What would he need? 

Servants… people that would unquestioningly do his bidding. Looking around at the discarded toys that had foolishly come to terms with the fact that they were nothing but fodder for the dump, Devon smiled.

He definitely wouldn't have any problems with gathering servants.

Ok, then he needed a plan.

Devon paced. He brought his plushy hand up to his chin… and then remembered he didn't have hands.

_Bah. The first thing I'm going to do once I become the supreme ruler is have someone sew me up some hands!_

But now for a plan. Hmmm…

He would think of a plan later.

Now, all he needed was a weapon.

Yes, that was it! A weapon.

In all the games that Michelangelo had played with him, Devon had noticed that without fail, the toy that had come out victoriously always had a weapon.

But where to get one?

Devon stopped pacing underneath Michelangelo's bed. It was night, and his owner—ahem, that is, his _former_ owner—slept, and also snored like a chainsaw.

He shook his head.

_My next decree shall be that all snoring personages should be shot. It wouldn't do to allow the 'snoring' gene to pass on, would it?_

Crawling out from underneath the bed, he jumped as high as he could, trying to make it to the top of Michelangelo's bed. He smacked against the side of the bed and tumbled to the floor. Michelangelo groaned, and rolled over, remaining unconscious, and snored (if possible) even louder.

_And there shall not be any beds taller than one inch!_

Devon gave it a shot again, and failed miserably. Needless to say, this didn't help his temper much. Growling underneath his breath, Devon marched underneath the bed once again, and began to pace.

So he couldn't get Michelangelo's nun-chucks, eh?

Now that he thought about it, he doubted very much if he could use that weapon properly. As they were longer than him, he couldn't very well make them 'whirl' like they were supposed to.

No matter, he would find a _different _weapon.

His growl changing to a smirk, he began to walk out from underneath Michelangelo's bed, and out of the room. He hadn't been this way before, but he was sure he'd run into some weapons somewhere. What with four ninja turtles and a ninja rat running amok all over the place, he felt bound to run into some eventually.

Making it out of the room, which for some reason had no door in the doorway, Devon found himself facing a ledge. Apparently, he stood at the top of a two-story structure. He found himself at a perfect viewpoint, being so high up.

In the middle of the lair stood a still pool of water, over which crossed a footbridge. Off to one side lay a rug surrounded by tall candelabras, with candles that looked as though they had gone through much use, even though they currently were unlit. The other side of the lair, directly opposite Devon loomed Donatello's lab, with the computers and the lab equipment, and interesting looking devices that Devon felt as though he needed to possess at a later date.

And there it was! A rack simply chock full of weapons. It stood to one side of the candelabra-surrounded rug, and looked as though it were pleading.

'Please!' Devon heard, 'Come, and partake of my spoils!'

As a gentletoy, Devon simply couldn't refuse. He began to make his way down to where the beautiful weapons called.

What Devon hadn't been able to see was that directly underneath him, stood a panting Raphael who had been laying waste to a particular punching bag.

* * *

Raphael pounded one more fist into the bag. "Three hundred!" He muttered to himself. 

Working out felt so good!

He stretched his arm muscles, preparing for another rep, when something odd caught his eye.

He turned to look, and then found himself frowning in disbelief.

Was he just dreaming, or was there this really ugly doll-turtle thing walking on its own? He stood still, watching as the doll—patched up, and one-eyed—made its way from the bottom of the steps that lead to the second level of the lair to the weapon rack He scratched his head. Then he rubbed his eyes.

"Man, either I'm really tired, or I'm loosin' it." He muttered, and then opened his eyes again.

Yup. That doll thing was still there. And it looked as though… was it pacing?

* * *

Hmmm. Well. The swords were definitely out of the question. They had to be at least four times as long as him, and about that much heavier than him. No, they would be of no use to him. 

And that long wooden stick…

Devon didn't even waste time thinking about it.

There were some nun-chucks! But again, as he paced, he knew that there would be absolutely no way he could wield them.

Then he saw them. He smiled in contemplation. They were perfect!

Forks.

Oh yes, the three-pronged grandeur of them! How regal, how terrifying he would look!

Just for measure, Devon struck a proud pose. (Actually, his plushy body was too floppy to allow him to look even remotely striking.)

All Devon would have to do would be to climb the stick thing to get to the top of the rack where his prizes rested. He again thought about how wonderful it would be to order somebody to sew him some hands… but first thing's first.

Climbing the stick thing, he shimmied up to the top. Flopping all over the place, he folded over the swords, and tumbled around the nun-chucks to the forks. Then, with a large and evil grin on his face, he knocked both of them off the rack. They fell to the ground with a satisfying clang.

Jumping off, and meeting his prizes at the bottom, Devon began the process of trying to pick both of them up at once.

Soon, after struggling for a few seconds with the broad handles, Devon realized that it was physically impossible for him to pick both up at once.

Sighing, he decided to settle for one. He wouldn't look _quite_ as terrifying, he supposed, but there was nothing for it. Soon, he had the handle wrapped in his soft, plushy arms, and began dragging it across the floor. The pointed end of it scraped against the floor, as Devon wasn't quite big or strong enough to lift the point into the air, nor was he tall enough to keep it from dragging.

_No matter, I'll just cut it down to size once I get it up to…_

"Oof!" Devon found himself booted off to one side by a gigantic turtle foot. That effectively separated him from his fork.

Turning around, and looking at his attacker, he seethed, "Who dares oppose me?" Discovering Raphael, towering over him, with a glare on his face, he narrowed his eye. Or, at least he tried to, as buttons were hard to do remotely anything with. "So, we meet again, insolent fiend. This time, I shall not be so lenient."

Raphael glared at the little mutant plushy. After all, it's one thing for a toy to all of the sudden start walking and talking, but when that toy decides to go after _his_ _sai,_ Raphael found himself beginning to get a little ticked off.

"Listen, dolly, just go back to wherever you came from," He growled, leaning down to pick up his sai, and twirling it meaningfully. Then a thought struck him. "Hey, aren't you that thing that Donnie made for Mikey a really long time ago?"

Devon chuckled evilly.

Raph backed up a few steps. "Whoa…" he said. Then he remembered it was some plushy mutant toy. And that he was much, much bigger than it. He pointedly walked up to it, towering over it threateningly, and pointed his sai at it.

"You got two seconds to live, dolly."

Devon wouldn't ever admit it, but he felt a twinge of fear at the giant towering turtle sporting _his_ fork. But he growled defiantly, and said, "I seem to recall from somewhere that you are… ticklish." He then sprung, before Raphael could react, and began to shimmy up Raphael's leg.

Raphael frowned at first, as he began to shake his leg to get the thing off of him, thinking, _I'm not ticklish… am I?_ He didn't think he was… he use to be, but..

Devon held on with tenacity and shimmied until he reached Raphael's belt. Then, with all he had, he began to tickle Raphael on his right side, where he was most vulnerable.

Raphael's eyes widened, and he batted at Devon with his hands, and wiggled.

Horribly, to his surprise, he _was_ ticklish! Still!

He tried hard not to laugh, and managed to get a grip on the thing at his side.

Taking a deep breath, and rubbing his side, he threw the mutant turtle plushy across the entire lair.

_That thing has a date with a paper shredder!_ He vowed.

* * *

Devon landed on top of a desk. Donnie's desk to be exact. Something stuck through him. 

Looking down, and to his surprise, he found a tack sticking out of the worn fabric of his torso.

Slowly, a smile crawled to his stitched lips.

A _weapon!_

* * *

Raphael marched over to Donnie's desk, after having replaced his sais in their proper place. Thoughts of, 'I'm hallucinating,' and 'Maybe I'm dreaming,' strolled through his head, as he walked. One thing was for sure. There was no way he would even mention the fact that he had been having a tickling session with a plushy stuffed toy that he'd all but forgotten about to _anyone!_ Not as long as he lived. 

When he reached the desk, he found it devoid of any Devon-like being.

"What?" He scratched his head again, and began to look around, hoping that he really _had_ been dreaming it. He leaned down to look under the table, when he felt a sharp sting in his foot.

"Ow!" Looking around, he spotted Devon, pushing a tack into his foot, and laughing maniacally.

"That's it! You're goin' down, you lousy little—"

He reached down to squeeze the little monster to death, but all that met his fists was thin air. Devon wisely decided to make a tactical retreat; and taking care to bring along his tack, he ran as fast as his plushy legs would let him.

Raph made a good chase, but unfortunately, the little creature crawled into a hole in the wall made by rats, a long time ago. Devon smiled, seeing a tunnel. Raph sat patiently by the wall, ready and waiting for his quarry to come out. What he didn't know was that Devon was headed up the wall, following the tunnel wherever it would lead. Ironically, it lead to the upper-level of the lair, and Devon secured his tack, and dove underneath Michelangelo's bed.

_Note to self: Big, ugly mutant ninja turtles don't like to be tickled all that well. _

* * *

Raphael woke up in the morning still leaning against the wall where Devon had disappeared into. Surrounding him were his three brothers and Sensei. All were giving him questioning looks. 

"Raph," Asked Michelangelo, "Were you sleeping there all night?"

Raph growled.

"Don't ask."

* * *

Ok, so should I do anymore stories about him, or is he a "meh, just another oc for the turtles." kind of character?


	2. Devon Meets His Maker

_Disclaimer: I don't own anyone or anything in this fanfiction. Except for maybe a little green mutant plushie with evil tendencies! Everything else belongs to… whoever had staked a claim on it in the first place. ;)_

_**Devon Meets his Maker**_

In the stillness of the night, Donatello found himself unable to sleep. Restlessly tossing and turning, he caught himself staring up at the ceiling, wondering if it were morning yet.

He sighed. "Ugh. I hate nights like this."

Obviously, there was only one thing to do on a night like this. Go to his lab, and work on his current project: fix the oven. Michelangelo just _had _to go and screw up all of the wires. What was he doing anywhere near them in the first place was far beyond Donatello to fathom. Even if he tried to get any information from him, all he would receive were half-formed answers that made no sense.

_"And what were you doing cutting out all the circuitry with that knife anyway, Mikey?" _

_"Nothin'! That is, I mean… well, it kinda started smelling weird every time I cooked on it, I think because I sort of accidentally spilt this gory lookin' paint stuff on the wires—"_

_"Paint…stuff…"_

_"It was sick! So I tried to scrape it off with a knife—" _

_Groan._

"_Not that I really meant to damage them! But I got halfway through before I realized that the wires were taking a hit. And I darn near ruined the knife too… but not to worry bro! If I just—"_

_"Oh, Mikey. If you weren't my brother…"_

So here he was, stripping out the entire system of wires, to replace them with non-scoured ones. He'd had to put it in his lab. And now that he had his head inside the oven, he felt a little woozy. The fumes from the paint gunk that Mikey had spilled were pretty darn strong! He made a mental note to himself that he needed to hide all sticky chemicals in a place Mikey would never look. Like in the closet, behind the cleaning supplies.

"It's not like he couldn't have just gotten a bottle of 409. Nope. Cleaning supplies are invisible to Mikey." He shook his head, stripping out the second to last wire, placing it in his growing pile next to his feet. Reaching up, he pulled at the last wire, hoping it wouldn't decide to be stubborn, and just come out without him having to mess with it too much…

Something looped around both of his ankles, and cinched up tight.

"Ow!" Donatello cried out, jumping, and barely missing hitting his head on the inside of the top of the oven.

Something started tugging at his ankles. It bit into his skin, as if someone had taken some sort of thin wires, or…

_Wires?_

Wiggling out from the inside of the oven, Donatello peered over his knees to find something that distressed him.

Some weird plushie looking toy thing that actually looked vaguely familiar had taken the pile of ruined wires from beside his feet, had apparently linked them together, and lassoed both of his ankles, and currently attempted to drag him somewhere. This was ridiculous, obviously, as the toy must have been a fraction of his size, not to mention his weight.

"What are you doing?"

The toy looked up as if surprised to be talked to in such a condescending manner. He wouldn't stand for it! Pulling out his tack, having already made a belt for it from a spare strand of thread from the floor of Michelangelo's room, he pricked Donatello's right foot. "Silence! You are now my prisoner."

"Gah!" Donatello cried out in pain. He swatted the toy with a vengeful arm. "Get away from me!"

Taking the smack with a startled look in its eyes—ah, that is, _eye—_the plushie toy rolled and came to a stop at the bottom of Donatello's computer desk.

Donatello quickly freed himself of the wires cinched up around his ankles, and jumped to his feet. He knew the impossibility of a toy coming to life, and considering the fact that he'd had his head in an oven reeking of paint fumes, it seemed right to take this whole occurrence with a grain of salt. But he couldn't help but feel that this wasn't all part of his imagination.

Especially not when his imagination decides to stab him with a freaking tack!

He made his way over to the place where he'd seen the little doll land, and had to shake his head again, trying to clear it. The doll was sitting up, and rubbing its fluff-stuffed noggin with one of its appendages. Clearly it didn't expect to get whacked clear across the room. But it quickly recovered.

Standing up, and regaining its composure, it measured Donatello up and down.

Shifting from one foot to the other, Donatello kept thinking that the creature before him really seemed familiar.

Finally, the plushie toy stood up as straight as its floppy body would allow him to go, and firmly placed his arms behind his back. "I see I must assume a different approach to this."

Donatello hardly paid attention much to what the doll was saying. _Where have I seen that thing before?_ _Toy shop? No… television? No. Where…  
_The toy interrupted his thoughts. "I am Devon the Magnificent!" He introduced himself, "Your lord and sovereign. I command you to obey! And the first thing I wish you to do is—"

"Oooooookay, wait a second." Donatello said, perplexity sneaking over his facial features. Then the proverbial light bulb turned on. "Ah! I know where I've seen you from. I _made_ you."

Devon shrugged. "Yes well, there's no need to be vain. I know I am a great accomplishment."

Donatello gave him a questioning look, and then rolled his eyes.

_Guess now I know how Frankenstein feels, eh?_

"And now that I have taken dominion of this place and everything in it—you obviously fall into that category—you will do my bidding. And I bid you to—"

Donatello put his face into his hands, rubbing his tired eyes. "I've been staying up way too late, apparently. I'm having a very very weird dream."

Devon, tired of being interrupted, cried out, "Insolent fiend!" He scurried up to Donatello, and jabbed his tack into Donnie's foot once more. "Pay the price for disobedience!"

"OW!" That _definitely_ woke Donatello up. "Hey!" He reached down, and seized the little menace in one hand, taking care to remove the offending tack from its owner.

"Let go, you mutinous minion! I am the one that is in charge here!" Devon protested, squirming a bit in Donatello's tight grasp.

"No way." Donatello replied, angry, and tired. There's nothing like talking toys to take the wakeful sensation away.

He didn't really feel like doing much with the thing in his hand, currently. But he knew he would want to figure out how in the world it had started moving, and why it decided it now owned the lair. But later. In the morning definitely.

Searching in his lab, he found a roll of duct tape, and with a tired gleam in his eyes, he strapped the mutant plushie toy to the top of his worktable.

"Don't worry, I'll be back in the morning." He promised, setting the roll of duct tape down on top of the table.

The toy merely glared at him. Or at least, that's what Donatello guessed it was doing. Hard to tell with just a button eye.

With that he left the evil little toy to stew.

* * *

Much to Donatello's future disappointment, evil toy geniuses never stew. They plot. And right now, Devon had much to plot. 

His revenge for this current humiliation.

_How am I supposed to be an evil toy genius ruler if my subjects refuse to obey?_

He would certainly have to work out an answer to _that_ question.

Then he took a look at the duct tape, an interesting idea forming in his mind.

But he also needed to figure out a way out of the infernal stuff before he could even remotely think about using it on others.

Wriggling, and squirming, Devon nearly ripped off his fabric trying to get free. To no avail. The stuff was stickier than bubble gum. Devon knew all about bubble gum, seeing as how Michelangelo had accidentally dropped him in wads of it several times.

Wishing he could pace, Devon's evil little mind raced.

_How does one nullify the effects of this exasperatingly bothersome restraint?_

Devon realized that it had to be persistency. He had noticed that when something vile and sticky had gotten on him, it took really nothing but determination to get what ever that was on him off of him. So Devon kept wriggling, and squirming, and fidgeting, messing with the obnoxious stuff that had him bound. The stuff began to weaken.

Devon noticed that where it peeled off of him, it no longer was quite as sticky.

_Dag nab it! It's taking part of me with it! Ooooh! Just think of what this stuff will do to my enemies!_

He writhed, and wriggled, and finally, after almost a good half-hour, Devon found himself free. He seemed a little more threadbare now, but really no worse for the wear.

He was already evil, how could he get any worse?

Pushing the duct tape off of the table, Devon tried to roll it into his mouse-hole tunnel, but the roll was too big.

_The stairs then…_he thought, disheartened at seeing the infernally long staircase to the top.

_My next decree. Stairs shall be burned! Everything shall reside in one-level._

* * *

Excitedly, Donatello awoke the next morning. 

Quickly, he stretched away his morning stiffness, tied on his mask, and swiftly headed downstairs. He had hopes that today would prove to be a very interesting day, what with an evil talking toy to play with all day.

His hopes were dashed the moment he saw the table.

All that he found was the remnant of duct tape that he'd bound the little creature to the table with. Looking at it, he noticed that the two ends were still attached to the table, but the bump in the center revealed nothing but air. He ripped it off the table and looked at it.

He could see little fuzzies attached to the tape.

_So I didn't just dream this one up!_

But he couldn't just tell his brothers about it. Like they'd ever believe him anyway!

No, he'd keep this one a secret, for now. Unless of course he crossed paths with the creature again. Donnie hoped he would. He hadn't quite finished with 'Devon the Magnificent' just yet.

In his reverie, he'd forgotten all about the roll of duct tape he'd set on the table as well.

Because if he'd remembered, he would have noticed that it had vanished, right along with Devon.


End file.
